Christmas Presents
by BeckyS
Summary: Ben Cartwright wonders if he's failed to teach two of his sons the most important lesson of all . . .


**_  
  
CHRISTMAS PRESENTS  
__BeckyS__  
December, 2001  
  
_**

Ben Cartwright walked softly up the stairs, a cup of coffee in each hand.  It was a cold winter morning, and in spite of the fire now blazing merrily in the fireplace, visible steam rose from the surface of both cups.  He reached the landing and shifted the right-hand cup to his left, balancing them easily as he tapped softly on the first door on the left.

He didn't hear any response, but chose to enter anyway.  His eyes adjusted to the darkened room, and he discovered why the man in the bed hadn't heard him: uncharacteristically, he was sleeping on his stomach, his black hair almost completely covered by the comforter.  The bedclothes were in a disarray more typical of his youngest, and one night-shirted arm was draped over the side of the bed, the long fingers nearly touching the floor.

He set the cups on the nightstand, careful not to knock them against the music box and framed picture that had occupied that space for the last twenty years, minus the time his eldest had spent in Boston at school.  With the hard-won wisdom of later years, he was glad he'd lost the fight to keep Adam on the ranch – he knew now that if he hadn't let his son go back then, Adam would simply have left later and quite possibly never returned.  Four years' absence had been hard to endure, but it was better than losing him completely.

As he almost had yesterday.

With small, gentle tugs, he pulled the comforter down to his son's shoulders, needing to reassure himself that Adam was, basically, all right.  He'd be hurting today, sore and bruised and stiff, but bruises healed and the painful, stiff muscles would loosen with rest and moderate use.

Adam's face came into view, a map of all he'd endured yesterday.

The long, dark lashes rested on wind-chapped skin, and fatigue still gave his eyes a bruised look.  The gash on his right cheek was a long, swollen weal, and fresh blood crusted the corner of his mouth where he'd apparently broken open his damaged lip again in the night.  The red and purple scrape on his forehead was angry-looking, but close inspection didn't reveal any sign of infection.  It would soon turn a glorious rainbow of colors, though.

Ben hadn't found any broken ribs or seen any indication of internal damage when examining his son after he'd collapsed on entering the house last night, but he was still glad to note that Adam's breathing this morning was regular and deep.

What a nightmare.

What was supposed to have been one of the most joyous evenings of the year had been fraught with tension and outright fear when a winter storm had blown in unexpectedly before his sons returned from their last-minute Christmas errands in town.  Hoss and Joe had staggered in not long before dusk, propping each other up across the yard from the barn and through the door.  Ben had ushered them to sit on the hearth near the fire while Hop Sing sped to the kitchen and back for warm bowls of stew and hot coffee.  

Hoss had practically inhaled his meal, but Joe couldn't manage the spoon until he'd held the warm mug in his hands for several minutes.  Ben helped them out of their jackets and simply tossed the garments on the floor, a breach of house rules that brought a spark of humor to Joe's eyes.  He was too cold to say anything coherent, but Ben knew he'd hear about it later.  He rubbed their backs, assuring himself that they were warming up, and that they'd be all right.

Then he'd asked the question.  Two words that brought the room to devastating silence.  "Where's Adam?"

"He's not here?  His horse is still in the barn . . ." Hoss dropped his spoon into his bowl with a clatter.

Ben sank into the red chair.  "He took the gray for new shoes – said he wanted to treat you both to lunch at the International House – a sort of an early Christmas present."

Joe's eyes widened with bewilderment and fear.  "We didn't see him, Pa.  Not at all."  He traded a look with Hoss.  "If he's out in that storm—"

Hoss shook his head and finished what his brother couldn't say.  "Ain't no way we're gonna find him."

Ben stared at them in shock.  It was Christmas Eve – he couldn't lose his son on Christmas Eve . . .

He rose suddenly and strode to the table by the front door, grabbed a muffler and wound it around his neck, then slid into his coat.

"Pa!"  Hoss lumbered to his side, still stiff from the cold.  "You cain't go out there, Pa; you'll freeze to death!"

"I'm warmer and likely better fed than your brother," Ben retorted.  "You two stay here."

"You can't go out there alone," Joe began, but Ben cut him off.

"Neither one of you is going anywhere.  You're half-frozen as it is, and you wouldn't last another ten minutes in this weather."

Hoss shook his head slowly.  "You won't neither.  It's one of the worst snows we've had.  You go out there, and we're gonna be huntin' more than a brother tomorrow."

Ben scowled in fury.  "So you're telling me to forget Adam?  To let him die out there in the snow so I can stay here warm and comfortable?  I can't believe I'm hearing this."  He pulled his gloves on with fierce tugs.

"It ain't like that at all," Hoss said stubbornly.  "You know if there was any chance of findin' him, I'd be first on the trail.  But you ain't been out there.  You cain't see more'n a few feet in front of you, and that wind'll blow you right off o' your horse."  

Joe had dropped his head in his hands, and when he spoke, his voice was muffled.  "Hoss is right, Pa.  You go out there now, and we'll lose both of you."

"You two don't seem to understand," Ben said furiously as he jammed his hat on his head.  "I can't _not_ go.  I can't leave Adam out there and not do everything within my power to find him.  I couldn't leave any of you out there."  He twisted the knob on the door and jerked it open.  "Even if it kills me."

And then he'd seen a terrifying, wonderful shape approach the doorway through the storm.  Snow-caked and staggering, his eldest fell into his arms.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The gray was dead, ironically saving Adam's life in the process.  They'd fallen not a half-hour out from the house, and the horse's warm body had kept Adam from freezing to death as he lay unconscious.  He'd woken several hours later, but it was a couple more before he could pull his leg free and begin to stagger home through the worsening wind.   The storm didn't hit, he'd told them in a brief moment of lucidity, until he was within view of the house, but it arrived with such bone-shaking strength that it had taken him hours to complete what was normally a ten-minute walk.

Ben had allowed Hoss and Joe to help their brother upstairs, but after that he chased them from the room, insisting that he only needed Hop Sing.  He tried to make it sound like he was concerned for their welfare – that they both needed rest after their own battle with the storm – but the truth was that he was furious with them.  How could they abandon their brother?  How could they believe he would abandon one of his sons?

He gazed down at the man who slept so peacefully before him.  It was Christmas morning, and he wished desperately for some of that peace for himself.  He could only believe he'd somehow failed to pass on that most important of all lessons, to love your family.  

He sighed deeply, then was faintly amused to hear the sigh echoed by his son.  "Adam?"  He waved one of the cups of coffee near his son's nose.  

It twitched, and the black eyebrows drew together in a sleepy frown.  "Pa?" came the muffled answer.  "S'that coffee?"

Ben set the cup aside for a moment.  "Sure is, son.  Hop Sing fixed it up just the way you like it."

A slow smile spread across Adam's face, and he blinked his eyes open.  He looked around, not moving, and raised an eyebrow in question.  "Where'd it go?"

"Just set it on the table for a minute while we get you turned around and a bit more organized."

"Huh?"  But then he tried to turn over, and his next words were lost in a groan.  

Ben helped him ease onto his back and added several pillows to prop him up.  "A bit sore this morning?" he asked.

That earned him another raised eyebrow, this one with a slightly more sarcastic tilt.  "Yeah, a little.  I think I'll just lie here a while until my arms and legs decide they belong to me."  He reached out eagerly for the coffee as soon as Ben brought it into view.  He sipped cautiously, but once he determined it wasn't blisteringly hot, he drank deeply.  "Ahh," he sighed.  "Thanks.  All the way home, I kept thinking about a hot cup of Hop Sing's coffee, how good it would taste."

Ben smiled.  "Glad I could bring you one, then."

Adam sipped again.  "I wondered if I'd make it, but somehow I just kept putting one foot in front of the other . . ."  He grinned suddenly.  "Maybe all that time on the trail.  Kinda got to be a habit."

Ben's smile abruptly seemed forced.  Adam set his cup in his lap and studied his father.  With an instinct born of the years of hardship they'd shared, he knew suddenly that something was very wrong.  "What is it, Pa?" he asked softly.

His father didn't answer for long minutes, but he held still and silent, patient in his waiting.

Finally, Ben spoke, his voice harsh and cracked.  "I almost lost you."

There was more, there had to be.  "Not the first time," he commented over his coffee cup, his tone encouraging his father to continue.

"Hoss and Joe," he began, but then stood suddenly and strode to the window to stare out at the snow.

In sudden alarm, Adam set the cup down and raised himself up higher in the bed.  "They're all right?  They got home, didn't they?  I thought I saw them last night."

"They're fine," he snorted, then went on sarcastically.  "A fine pair, indeed."

Adam settled back into the pillows a bit.  "What happened?"

Ben shook his head and returned to his chair.  "Nothing.  Nothing for you to worry about.  You just rest up."

"Pa," Adam said, a clear warning in his voice.

Ben sighed, not at all sure he was about to do the right thing.  As angry as he was, he didn't cause trouble between his boys.  He knew his eldest well enough, though, to be sure Adam wouldn't let go until he knew all the details.  "They tried to keep me from going after you."

"Of course they did."

Ben's head jerked up.  "I can't believe I'm hearing that from you of all people, Adam!  I raised you boys to care about each other!"

Adam reached out, placed his hand on his father's knee.  "You did, and we do," he answered.  "But we care about you, too, Pa, and I can understand that, believing I had to already be dead, they couldn't face losing you, too."

"How could they have known that it was too late?  It obviously wasn't, yet they gave up on you anyway."  Ben rubbed his hands over his face.  "I'm not trying to set you against them, son.  I'm just deeply disappointed."

Adam took a deep breath, trying to find the words that would help his father.  "Don't be disappointed in them, Pa.  You weren't out there – they were.  They knew how bad the storm was.  They knew that if I was still alive, I'd likely found some place to hole up until the storm blew itself out.  And if I hadn't, then chasing after me wouldn't have done any good, and would have gotten you killed as well."

Ben stared at him, unbelieving.  "Are you trying to tell me that you wouldn't have been the first one out the door to search for one of your brothers?"

Adam laughed.  "Of course I would have.  Just because I understand their perspective doesn't mean I'd do the same thing."  Then the smile faded from his face, and he shook his head.  "I'd have been wrong, though.  Pa, I was coming up from the gully."

Ben sat back in his chair.  The gully was in the opposite direction from town – he never would have found Adam.

"And you would have died, looking."  Adam's gaze was steady, unyielding.  

"I couldn't have stayed home, son.  I just couldn't have . . ."

"I know."  A touch of a grin raised the uninjured corner of his mouth and a slight, teasing dimple appeared.  "There's something different in the way you feel about someone you've diapered."

Ben stared at him, then started to laugh.  The knot in his gut eased, and he realized his son was right.  Hoss and Joe couldn't understand, wouldn't understand until they were fathers themselves.  God willing, they'd never _have_ to understand that gut-wrenching fear—  "Let's just be grateful you found your way home when you did."

"Punctuality pays off," he grinned.

They were still laughing when they heard a hesitant knock on the door.

"Come in," Adam called. 

Hoss and Joe sidled through the door, obviously sizing up their father's mood before speaking.

"Uh," Hoss started, "you feelin' better this morning, Adam?"

"A few sore muscles, but I'll be all right." 

Joe snuck a look at Ben, and whatever he saw must have reassured him because he asked, "Well enough to come downstairs?"

Adam traded looks with his father.  "What's downstairs?"

Even Hoss snorted at that.  "Christmas, that's what!  Durned if all that cold didn't freeze your brain.  It's Christmas morning—"

"Afternoon, actually," Joe interrupted.

"—an' Hop Sing has dinner almost ready—"

Joe jumped in again, "And we haven't opened our stockings or any of our presents—"

"That's enough!" Ben roared.  "Your brother was almost killed last night, and today all you can think about is your presents?"

Hoss and Joe glanced at each other, then down at the floor.  "It's not the presents," Hoss began uncomfortably.  "See, we've been sittin' downstairs starin' at the tree an' all them presents all morning and thinking—" he glanced at his oldest brother, but couldn't find the words to explain.  He looked at Joe again.

Joe's eyes glimmered with unshed tears.  "We were talkin' about what it would've been like if Adam hadn't come home.  How bad it would be if he died in that storm."

"We figured we'd never want Christmas again," Hoss said.  

Joe nodded.  "But he's here, and he's gonna be okay—"

Hoss broke in with a smile that brought sunshine right into the room.  "That's the best present we could get, an' we want to celebrate."  He looked dubiously at his older brother.  "If'n you're up to it, that is."

Adam grinned.  "Oh, I'm up for it.  I may need a little help getting out of this bed—" He immediately had two helpers at his side.  Joe pulled down the covers and then turned to the dresser to find pants and a warm shirt, and Hoss helped him to his feet.  He winced at the various aches and pains, but managed a wink over his shoulder at his father along with a single word, "Diapers." 

Ben moved out of the way and watched his two younger sons helping, no, _coddling_ his eldest.  He smiled at how Adam, the most independent and self-sufficient of them all, allowed it.  Adam – the bridge between them.  Part father, part brother, seeing both sides because he'd lived both roles all his life.  

_The best present . . .  No, he hadn't failed at all.  
  
_

**_The End_**

****


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